


she's a saint, she's a story, she's what i want to be

by lostinthefire



Series: This Is Me Not Praying [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Insecurity, Nonsexual Ageplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is trying to get comfortable with herself and her little side.  It's not going as smoothly as she would like.  Especially not when other people come into play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I thought that I would be writing Natasha with the other Avengers but uh....that did not happen. She is trying to ease herself into the whole thing nd that means more buildup than I anticipated. So yes, this is now a thing.

She sits on the floor, shifting uncertainly in her spot, her fox in her lap. Her eyes are on the walls, studying the blues, greens and purples and the pictures from fairy tales that litter the walls. She’s not sure whether she should be here or not but the pictures give her comfort. They remind her of the books back in her apartment and while she’s not sure about the other people around her, the pictures make her relax.

The people themselves are scattered around the room, playing with toys, laughing, listening to stories, or just lounging with each other. They all look so comfortable, so content in their skin and the situation, like this is the best thing they could have received. She, on the other hand, is in a corner, studying everything and trying to not appear as uncertain as she feels.

It’s a new situation for her, feeling uncomfortable, feeling odd. She could act as if she weren’t, put on a show and pretend, but that’s not why she’s here. It wouldn’t be what she wanted and she’s trying to get what she wants, possibly even needs.

Someone is watching her. One of the women who work at the club that the whole thing is taking place in. She averts her eyes, concentrating on her fox instead. She doesn’t want to see the expression on the woman’s face, the possibility of amusement or discomfort. She feels uncomfortable enough without adding anything from others.

But she’s not able to avoid her for long. She glances up to find the woman approaching, walking with a confidence that she is familiar with and yet feels so distant from now.

“Hello.” The woman crouches down, smiling in a way that says she’s seen this before, the uncertainty and nerves that she’s displaying. “What’s your name, love?”

She doesn’t say anything, finds the words caught in her throat. She wants to answer, to tell her something, but instead she buries her head in her knees. She clings tightly to her fox and hopes that maybe the words will return, or that the woman will leave her alone.

“It’s all right,” the woman says. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

She peeks her head out, watching the woman nervously. She’s not sure how to respond, so she doesn’t do anything, just clings tighter to the fox. A part of her wants to tell this stranger to leave her be; and yet, she likes the presence she gives off. It’s comfortable and confident, self-assured in a way that she can only hope to grasp at when she’s in this state.

When she doesn’t respond in any real way, the woman seems to take it as an invitation, settling down across from her and smiling softly. “You’re new here,” she says gently. “Do you have anyone with you?”

She shakes her head slowly, biting down on her lip. It’s one of the things that makes her feel out of place. While she knows not everyone brought a keeper of some kind, she feels like she’s the only one who doesn’t have someone, be it an adult or a friend.

“That’s all right,” the woman assures her. “I’m glad you came. You might be able to make friends.”

She nods her head, finding the non-verbal reply easier. Her words feel like they’ll get tangled in her teeth if she tries to speak. Being able to just nod or shake her head makes her just a little more comfortable.

She’s not sure if making friends is why she’s here, if that was her end goal or if it was something else. She doesn’t know what she’s doing at all and, in her current state, it scares her a little. She presses her back up against the wall, curling into a tighter ball and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip again. She likes this woman; she wants her to stay, but she’s not sure she can say it and not sure she can bring herself to reach out and play.

Someone calls out a name and the woman looks up — her name is Lydia — before turning back to her. “I’ve got to go,” she says gently. “But if you need anything, all you’ve got to do is find me. Can you do that?”

She nods, because she isn’t sure what else to do. Lydia seems lovely and she wants her to come back, maybe even to play with her, but she can’t bring herself to burden the woman with her desires.

She spends the rest of the night folded up in that corner, watching the people, staring at the pictures on the walls, doing anything she can to get comfortable. Most of her says the whole thing was a bust, that she wasted her time and she shouldn’t bother coming back. 

Except a small part of her wants to see Lydia again; wants to be able to speak to her, maybe even get her to play or read a story or... or _something_. It feels odd, and Natasha never thought she would say this about a stranger, but she almost makes her feel safe enough to be comfortable with what she’s experimenting with.


	2. i earned the right to claim what i can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer to write and get up than I really waned but it is done! The next bit will probably take a while too as my beta (who is forever amazing and lovely and wonderful) is going to be visiting for several days.

She was never taught that certain things were every child’s right, that she didn’t have to fight for everything she wanted, that she didn’t have to struggle for even the smallest amount of comfort. She wasn’t taught that playing was something children just did. She didn’t know that nightmares were something to be soothed away by loving caregivers. She didn’t learn that children were creatures unto themselves, not things to be wielded as weapons.

It’s with all this in mind that she approaches her new endeavor, her attempts to claim something of her own, faith or trust or maybe even something like a safe space. It’s hard to turn off the thoughts you’ve been fed since birth, hard to remember that not everything you heard was true. She knows logically that it isn’t. But in the emotional part of her brain, the part she tries to deny, the doubt slams into her again and again, reminding her over and over that she didn’t earn it, she doesn’t deserve it, she has to do more to get it.

But she sits in her little apartment, curled around her fox and surrounded by storybooks, and she thinks that maybe she can attain it. Maybe she does deserve this.

~~~

The club knows her, or at least they think they do. She’s the shy, quiet girl who comes for story time; the girl with the fox and the pretty picture books. They welcome her just as they welcome anyone else and maybe she’s not quite comfortable with them yet, but she’s content enough to be recognizable.

She settles in her corner, still not saying anything to anyone, watching the people as they filter in and out. She’s not hiding anymore, just settled comfortably in her spot. She listens to the people as they chatter, smiling just a little when people show off their books for reading. She has books but she never brings them up, never shows anyone else. Sometimes she entertains the thought for a few moments, but she’s never been good at sharing and the thought of approaching the center of the group leaves her heart pounding hard in her chest.

But things are different today; not in any big way, not because there are new people or because she’s feeling braver than normal, but because there’s someone very familiar sitting in the overstuffed armchair in the opposite corner of the room.

She watches as Lydia throws a smile her way. It makes her look away, eyes down towards the fox. A part of her wants to go say hello, wants to go settle with the others and listen to a story, but she holds back, at least for the moment.

Then the woman starts talking, weaving words together with tone and cadence to paint a picture, to make something more than a story. Something that, in her heart, she dares to believe to be true, even if it’s only for a few minutes. She finds herself drawn, pulled towards the others, her fox dragged along behind her. She barely notices when she’s settled at the edge of the group. She only becomes aware of what she’s doing when her own voice crosses her own ears.

“Will you read more?”

Lydia looks at her. Her expression is pleased but nothing more, no surprise or shock. Natasha’s grateful for that.

“I’m doing stories tonight,” she says, her voice reassuring.

She can’t help but smile, relaxing just a little in her spot. A part of her wants to bring one of the books over, Aesop’s Fables, but she can’t quite manage it; she contents herself with listening to other people’s books for the moment. It’s comforting, even though she doesn’t recognize Dr. Seuss or any of the other things that get read out. Her stories are older more often than not: fairy tales, folklore and fables. She has a few newer tales too, but she’s drawn to the older traditions.

She stays for the entire night, not saying anything, just listening, comfortable enough every now and then to make a small noise of approval or excitement as Lydia reads something. It’s more than she’s done in the several months she’s been attending and there’s a small part of her that’s proud of herself for it, proud that she’s letting herself have this, even if it’s only in bits and pieces.

As the night comes to an end, she starts to grow tired, to grow uncertain about returning to her apartment, to her life. This is an escape, freedom from what she is, and she can feel the longing to make it last grow in her chest, beating steady as her heart.

She’s gathering up her things, putting them in her bag, when there’s a voice behind her. “Did you have fun?”

She turns, looking at Lydia, the woman’s expression placid with just a hint of curiosity. She nods, sliding her fox into the bag. It’s all she can manage. She’s a master at words in most situations, but she finds them so hard to manipulate now, sliding through her mouth like water.

“I’m glad,” Lydia says. “You should join us more often. It was nice to see you.”

She nods again, teeth sinking into her lower lip for a moment. She wants to use words, wants to be cool and calm, the creature that can win over the heart of anyone she comes across. But right now she still feels like the strange, shy little girl in the corner who can barely speak, nonetheless do anything else.

“Thank you,” she finally manages after a few beats of silence. “For reading, for... for everything. For saying hello.”

Lydia laugh. Waves it off. “It’s not a problem, lovely.” Her voice is sweet, even soothing, and Natasha can feel herself begin to relax all over again. “I’m happy to do it.”

“You’re... very kind,” she continues. “And you have a beautiful voice.”

And that seems to be the right thing to say. It earns her a wide smile and, after a moment’s careful thought, a light kiss on the forehead. 

“If you promise to come and join us again next month,” Lydia adds, “I’ll be sure to read again.”

She nods, not even thinking about the commitment she’s making. Something could come up, something could keep her from showing up, but she wants this, to see this woman again and hear her read stories. It was almost hypnotizing and she wants to get lost in it all over again.

“I will,” she promises and picks up her bag. She gives the woman a wave and starts for the exit, her feet carrying her just a bit more quickly than she would have otherwise chosen to move.


	3. there's fear in your heart but hope in the doorway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! It only took me a year and a half but I came back to this! here's the thing, I kind of stalled out on it due to personal reasons but I am back now and trying to kills ome of my WIPs for NaNoWriMo and this fic was on the list. There is going to be more to the series, she needs to talk to the rest of the Avengers and there will be happy acceptance and family bonding but this is the wrap-up to this part.

Nothing of interest happens between one month and the next. She’s sent out on assignment a few times, does her job and does it well, and generally manages tp get through life without much interfering with her.

It feels strange though, like she’s in a dream state that she can’t pull herself out form. Everything seems a little off, a little different than it should be and even when she’s in the middle of fighting, she can’t help the feeling that she’s not entirely there.

Clint notices how distant she’s been and confronts her about it, asking if she’s all right, if she needs anything. She shakes her head, smiling a little and waving him off. 

“I’m fine,” she assures and then proceeds to walk away. Sometimes it feels like she’s always walking away, turning people away and pushing them aside.

She goes home that night and, for the first time since the club, pulls out the fox that has been tucked away.

Her fingers run over the fur and she breathes a sigh, eyes closing as she relaxes. It’s grounding, the little toy, it brings her into herself and she can almost think clearly and not with a distance that was soon going to become problematic.

She sits there for a long time, her hands on the little toy and soon enough, she’s focused enough to be able to do other things. A part of her doesn’t want to though, she just wants to be allowed to sit there with her fox and exist, even if her own mind doesn’t think it’s what ought to be done.

She doesn’t though, finding it hard to give herself the permission and she’s on her feet in a few moments, preparing to do anything else but sit there half zoning out and half being very aware of everything around her.

Days pass after that and she finds herself coming home to the fox, her hand gravitating towards it as soon as she enters the apartment. She doesn’t touch anything else, not the books, not the blanket she acquired. Only the fox gets her attention. 

She’s doing better now that she’s acknowledging it again, holding it close is keeping her relatively sane and safe but she can’t help but feel silly over it. She thought she had moved past the awkward uncertain phase of her thought process on this but apparently not.

And then it’s the day before the monthly party at the club and she finds herself seriously debating not going.

Natasha knows she can come up with plenty of reasons not to go, yet she knows all of them are excuses. She feels jagged, sharp and splintered as of late and even though she’s focusing better, it’s only the tip of what’s going through her mind.

But she remembers that she made a deal and while she’s gone back on plenty of things, she feels strange and guilty for thinking she might go back on this.

So, when the time came, she packs her things, slips into a cab and proceeds to the party, hoping she’s not making a huge mistake.

~

The club is loud, filled with people and putting Natasha on edge. She has a small bag with her and she keeps it close, her eyes going from person to person and watching with careful uncertainty.

She pays to get in and slips passed the bouncer. A part of her wants to run to the safe haven of the room she’d found before but she holds back, keeping her pace steady and calm. She’s feeling anything but though and the idea of doing any of this is making her sick to her stomach. 

Where the anxiety is coming from is beyond her and it’s irritating at the same time. She had been fine with this for a time, she really had been. Something shifted in her head though and now she can’t stop being nervous.

One hand reaches into her bag, fingertips brushing the fox and she takes in a small breath. It’s helpful, even now. It represents a lot of what makes her anxiety rise up and yet she knows that it helps too, it’s an anchor.

She finds the room easily enough and claims a corner. The glow stars above her head still make her smile and even though it’s not great, she starts to relax just a little bit.

People filter in and out, some dropping others off, others wandering in on their own. Some people try and talk to her but she doesn’t say anything to them, just nods or shakes her head and waits for them to wander away. 

She’s waiting to see if Lydia shows up, if she would keep her promise. Natasha isn’t expecting her to be there for some reason, sure she’s going to be let down, but the woman arrives and she looks so pleased when she spots her.

“You came,” she says, crouching down to be at eye level. “Good, I’m glad.”

Natasha only nods, arms wrapped lightly around her knees and the fox sitting next to her.

Lydia studies her face, her posture and then offers a small nod. “You’re a bit nervous tonight, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t say anything at first but she’s given this _look_ and she winds up nodding her head a little, one hand reaching next to her and pulling the fox closer. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Lydia says, her voice gentle. “There’s no need. You’re all right here. Don’t worry.”

She doesn’t have the words to explain what’s going on in her head, so she only nods, hoping that agreeing is the right answer. She feels stupidly uncertain and awkward in her own skin, it makes her feel sick and frustrated as hell.

The emotions don’t make it onto her face though and the expression she wears is simply one of slight reservation with a hint of nerves. It’s almost irritating to her because if she could just explain how she felt, if she could let the feelings play out on her face, maybe someone could help her.

But Lydia seems to notice without needing the cues and Natasha doesn’t know how she feels about that. It’s slightly unnerving but she suspects that it comes with what the other woman does. Being a student of human nature and perception seems like it would be useful in her dealings with people.

“Why don’t you wait here,” she says gently, resting a hand on Natasha’s knee. “And I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then I’ll tell you a story. Would you like that?”

She bites her lip for a moment, the ridiculousness of the situation feeling like it’s going to cripple her but she wants it, oh she wants it so much, so she forces herself to nod, wrapping herself around her fox and waiting patiently.

Lydia is only gone for about ten minutes and when she settles back in next to her, she has a collection of books, each small and with pictures.

“I was thinking this one,” she says, holding out a book to Natasha. She takes it gingerly, studying the thing and feeling it between her hands. It had a comfortable, smooth cover and she liked the illustrations on it, so she nods, holding it out to be collected.

Lydia settles in, opening the book and then moving one arm so Natasha can come closer. “”Do you want to come here?” 

It somehow catches her by surprise but Natasha nods, settling in next to the woman and curling in on herself until she’s a ball pressed up against Lydia’s side.

They read the book slowly, the pictures and rhythm of the words soothing her brain into a state that becomes much more manageable and even pleasant. She can deal with this, she can be small and quiet and have things read to her. It feels like how it should feel and not riddled with panic and loathing.

Lydia spends the rest of the night going back and forth between Natasha nd her duties as a staff member. She reads her stories, tells her about others that she doesn’t have the books for and lets her curl up and strokes her hair. It’s such a comfort and by the time the club shuts down, Natasha finds herself in a significantly better place than where she’d been when she arrived.

She’s at the door, getting ready to leave when she turns to catch the other woman leaving. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

Lydia only smiles. “It’s my pleasure, dear. Now go home and get some rest.”

And she does, finding that she sleeps better after that night than she had for the rest of the month.

~

It’s not long after that when her brain starts processing more on the topic. She’s not entirely comfortable with who she is now but she’s getting there. She enjoys the part of her that is small and gentle, the part that likes to be told stories and sleeps with stuffed animals. It’s a careful part but a part she wants to share as well.

And although she’s not entirely certain how she feels about it, she admits that this is a part of her that isn’t going away. It’s an honest, raw part of her that she accepts now, albeit carefully.

It’s also something she isn’t sure she wants to keep private anymore.

And yes, it scares her to think of telling others, telling the people she leans on and considers teammates and friends, but at the same time, she finds herself hoping that maybe, just maybe she can gain something from letting people in. Maybe doing this is a part of her growing into herself, just as accepting the part of her that’s small is.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


End file.
